Reflection
by Kizoku Mika
Summary: GTA3 In the aftermath of the events that took place in Shoreside, our favorite character finds himself reflecting on his life thus far. And he doesn't like what he sees. Nothing has changed and life for him is now meaningless


**Warnings:**  Strong language, mild violence, "suggestive" themes.  One-shot.

**Disclaimer:**  GTA3 belongs to its respective owners, which isn't me, but it's nice to dream eh?

Yeah, its me I'm back.  I doubt if anyone actually remembers me but that isn't the point! The point is I'm back and with yet another fic. -_- *Sigh* I'll never finish the others at this rate.  Anywho, you, the reviewers will determine if I finish this story or not since this is just a little experiment thingy since I'm not really use to writing things in the first person.  Enjoy!  ^_^

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Reflection 

I've been told that when dreams die they turn into rain – tears of the sky.  The sky has cried and all of my dreams are dead, they've been dead, lost in the endless streams of my enemy's blood.  Kinda funny in a way…

No matter how many I kill nothing ever fucking changes.  Low-level Cartel Members are still pushing their SPANK, twisted cops are still patrolling the streets looking to do some serious ass riding, the SouthSide Hoods still walk their turf in Witchataw, and I'm still the most wanted in Liberty City.  Maybe that's the only thing that has changed, when I first started out no one knew me, now everyone does.  My evils are numberless, I'm wanted by all:  The Mafia, Triads, Cartel, maybe even the Yakuza if they ever find out what I did to Kenji.  Can't go nowhere without someone trying to turn me into a stain on the sidewalk.  I can't even take a fucking walk all my cars are bullet proof, I live in this hellhole of a hideout- I'm sick of this shit!  I feel like eating the barrel of my automatic.

The temptation is back

Stronger

I pick up the object lying across my lap.  My good old friend that's gotten me out of shitloads of trouble and open up wide, shoving the cool bitter metal down my throat.

The taste, it tastes like copper

The same taste as blood

How fitting

Damn, its kind of pathetic, that this is what I'm reduced too, but then again what's the point of living if you can't truly be a live?  Ah, fuck it.  The gun cocks smoothly all there's left is to pull the trigger

So pull

"Yo, babe.  Open the door."  Can't even blow my brains out in peace, I glance through the tinted windows then go to pull the trigger.  My finger tightens the level moves and…and…

I can't do it, and I end up opening the door and pulling the interrupter inside and promptly proceeding to fuck the shit out of her.

Don't be alarmed…

This was how everyday started out.  I'd wake up before dawn, roll outta bed, shower, dress, eat.  Maria would still be out like a light no matter how much noise I make.  Come to think about it, I'm still not sure how I got saddled with the bitch.  She talks too much her obsession with leopard skin clothes and furniture makes want to puke.  The only thing she's good for is a mindless fuck and getting me some new contacts in Staunton and Shoreside.  Other than that – useless.  Maybe I should have shot her after blowing Catalina to hell – that two timing whore-bitch.  That's right w-h-o-r-e-b-i-t-c-h.

Now where was I?  Oh yeah, Maria would still be out and I'd go up to the garage, sit in my bullet proof hummer and reflect on my shitty existence then attempt to end it all.

One pull…

Wouldn't even feel it.

But it never happens, Maria always seems to wake up, like she knows what's up, and tap on the window.  I jump her; she never seems to mind while I feel like I'm sticking my cock in a Hurst everytime.  This bitch…will be the death of me one day, but why should I care anyway?

Life is very unappealing at this point.

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"Oh your such a naughty boy."  She practically purrs at me, stretching out that sexy body of hers against the seat, adjusting her crumbled ruined clothes.  Looking very much like the cat that didn't steal the cream, but found a direct route to the cow.  

Cat…cow…? Damn I'm getting poetic, like some ware hero.  I'm no hero, I save nothing 'cept for _her_ maybe but still I'm killing her.  This life style we led is killing her.  And…I don't care

…Really I don't, she's just a house slut

I shrug into my beat up leather jacket and start up the engine, like Maria it purrs.  I back out the garage and we go barreling down the street, bullets bouncing off the tires and windows.  Neither of us flinch, you kinda get use to being shot at constantly.  "Alright make a right here, then another at the light.  This guy says he'll be waitin' at the stadium.  He's offering a lot, over ten thou to ice this Diablo's that's been playin' his daughter.  Talk about your over protective father."  Doesn't she ever need to breath?  And what the hell happen to the 'No more killing…seen too much blood' attitude?  "Ya know Leone used to act like that around his sons, after his wife died and everything-" I tune her out, a nifty little habit I just recently developed and made a sharp right, nearly tipping the damn car over, "- And then…wooooah fido!  Take it easy will ya?"  Atleast that managed to shut her up for a while.

Mental Note:  Almost flipping the car and killing us both is an effective way of shutting the bitch up

The stadium zooms into view.  "Okay, okay, pull over here."  She says, pushing open the door, "I'll be right back when I get everything straight with this guy, aight?"  I nod, we never actually talk, well she does, but since when do I actually listen to that chatter?  Speaking of which…

~Welcome to chatterbox, I'm your host Lasslo and today's show? We'll there's no topic-~

"Oh! And sweetheart?"  I look at her, brow arched, "Don't kill anyone."  The door slams shut for real this time

~Since when do we actually have a topic?  You listeners just call in and talk about the most ridiculous things and expect me to sympathetize with you, well not anymore!  You know what, why can't I just talk about what I want for a change, huh?  I mean what's the worst that can happen, I already got kicked off the rock station, the only job that really mattered me -~

I couldn't help but snicker while I flipped off the radio station, chatterbox was falling apart without Love, Donald Love that is.  Bored, I wind down the window and stick my Uzi out, casually firing a couple of rounds into the crowded sidewalk to watch them scatter.  I catch a hippie with a black coat on in the arm and an elderly couple in the leg and hip.  Hey, I was true to Maria. I wasn't killing anybody.

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Minutes later the door's thrown open and Maria settles beside me an oddly excited look on that doll face of hers, "Oh shit, fido you're not going to believe this!"  Sirens howl out in the distance and she scans the streets – three people are bleeding to death- she looks at the smoking end of my Uzi then glares at me; I glare back and give her the shock of her life, "What am I not going to believe?"  I talk.

To Be Continued… 

**_…Or Game Over?_**

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**_Kizoku's Ramblings:_**  I know its short…but it'll be longer if I continue I promise.  So, how did I do?  It's been a while since I've worked on anything related to GTA3 and I'm a bit rusty.  Anywho drop me a line I'd love to here some feedback from you wonderful people, but flames aren't accepted only constructive criticism and suggestions.

***Be a good reader and review***


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